***
Walt lazily opened his eyes for what seemed like the tenth time, noticing it was still dark. The blanched red glow from the bedside alarm clock reminded him to check the time—again: 6:15 a.m. He rolled onto his back and crossed his long arms beneath his head and listened—no sound at all. No doors closing, no rattling from the kitchen, no running water rushing through the pipes in the wall. He thought for sure he’d hear Buck up and about. Perhaps it was a sign that he was still asleep, and if so, he certainly wasn’t going to wake him up yet. The service didn’t begin until nine, so he had lots of time yet.
He got up and showered, dressing in the fresh change of clothes he’d brought from the downstairs quarters last night. In the corner nearest the bathroom sat an overstuffed easy chair, a large floor lamp next to it for isolated reading. He hadn’t turned the lamp on, opting instead for the light from the bathroom to spill into the cozy bedroom, now awash in the soft white glow it provided. He lowered himself into the chair sinking slightly in the abundant cushioning and then wiped down his boots in the pale light. When he was satisfied they looked proper for a funeral service he leaned back and let his eyes drink the room in. Being alone in it was one thing, but the loneliness of it this morning made him uneasy—not that today would be the least bit easy in any regard.
Spreading his towel methodically across the towel bar at the foot of the bed, he then turned off the bathroom light, leaving only the alarm clock’s ghostly pallor to occupy the dark room. A couple of steps further down the hallway and he leaned over to see if the light was on in Buck’s room; no indication of any escaped from under the door, but he did notice it was slightly ajar. Walt hesitated, uncertain as to what to do. Stepping forward he gently pushed on the door, expanding the gap between the jamb and door roughly six inches. He waited a moment, listening for any movement—nothing, so he gently knocked. “Buck? You up?” No answer. Palm flat against the door, he slowly pushed it open and stepped in. The bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in at all, and there was certainly no sign of Buck anywhere. Walt’s brow furrowed as he turned and headed for the kitchen.
All the lights were off in the dining area and kitchen except the pale amber light spilling from the stove hood at the far end. Out of habit Walt glanced at the coffee machine. Most mornings Linny would already be up and about, the smell of frying bacon would linger in the air, its sizzle like a homing beacon to any who stepped into the area. He could hear her voice as he had countless times before: “Mornin’ Walt. Want some breakfast?” she’d ask in her wonderful Midwest accent. Unless he stayed overnight he would have a bumpy twenty minute drive to the ranch, and always arrived hungry.
“You bet,” he’d say. She’d grab a couple of eggs and he’d listen to the shells crack on the side of her cast iron griddle.
“Buck’ll join you in a few minutes,” she would add. “Want some fresh coffee? Just finished brewin’.”
“Thanks, Lin,” he’d reply, “But I’ll get it.” She’d smile and turn back to tend to the eggs.
No smell of bacon frying this morning, and the small coffeepot was half empty already, the warming plate indicator glowing red in the relative dark. Walt drew his eyes around the forlorn kitchen and sighed deeply. He grabbed a clean mug from the cabinet above and poured himself a hot cup of java. He sipped at it, letting the steam warm the tip of his nose. Opening the mudroom door, he donned his coat and stuffed his gloves into the side pockets. They were toasty warm from sitting above the radiator. Mug in hand, he stepped into the connecting walkway leading to the stables. Through the huge windows he could see patches of stars twinkling, and a blanket of snow covering everything visible.
He sighed again, knowing Linny would have loved it.
Cooler air greeted him as the interior door to the stables opened and he stepped through. A couple of the horses swiveled their heads to look in his direction. All six of them had flannel blankets covering their backs and sides. Walt could hear occasional sawing coming from the workshop in the far corner. On his way, he stopped to rub the nose of each horse and then approached the open door. He should have known.
Walt rapped gently upon the door. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
Buck looked up from his work and wiped his brow. “More of a nap than sleep,” he said. In the bright light of the workshop Walt could see his eyes were bloodshot, dark circles underneath each one. “Have any breakfast yet?” Walt asked.
Buck shook his head. “Still not hungry, really.”
“I can make a couple of eggs real quick if you’d like. I’m going to have some. Could use the company.” Buck busied himself with measuring off a couple of arm-length pieces of rope. “You’re as stubborn as she was,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Walt.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I guess it was, wasn’t it?” He coiled the length of rope, laying it gently at the edge of his workbench. Walt admired Buck’s handiwork with the large branch he’d dragged in yesterday. He had removed the ragged ends and stripped away all branches, large and small, and left the bark in its natural state. Split into two different lengths, he’d created a notch on both pieces where they would intersect. The effect was beautiful for its simplicity—the pieces came together as a proper cross, the marker for her final resting place.
Buck had used his hand axe to roughly hew the top and horizontal ends into knobby caps, and sharpened the bottom portion into a pointed stake so it could be driven into the ground. Without even thinking about it Walt had removed his hat, perhaps as a subconscious display of respect.
“You’ve always been good with your hands, Buck,” Walt began. “The porch, the walkway, the stables…every repair this place needed. But this,” he said, gesturing with his hat, “this is perhaps your best work—and by far your most important.” Buck had rigged the vertical length between two vices as Walt spoke, but stopped thoughtfully as he’d finished.
“Thank you kindly, Walt. It’s not much, but it will do until I can get a proper marker for her.” He then set the horizontal piece into the small notch, assuring the two pieces nestled together.
“Buck, I sure don’t think there could be any more proper a marker for Linny. I really don’t.”
Buck grabbed the coiled rope and slowly unwound it. “Thanks again, Walt. That means a lot to me.” Walt replaced his hat, then tugged the brim down just a little as a silent you’re welcome.
“I’ll go start a fresh pot, and get the eggs cookin’. See you in a few.”
Buck just nodded, already absorbed in the task of winding the rope crisscross about the middle of it where the two pieces met. When finished, he held it upright, briefly scrutinizing it for some imagined flaw, then whispered tenderly, “I love you, Linny,” and gently kissed the heart of the cross.